


Truth or Dare

by Mother_of_Dragons



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Gen, Italics, Modern-ish setting, Run-On Sentences, back @ it again with those basic titles, if I don't post this now I never will, solo! triplets AU, written as if the triplets (& you!) are in their mid to late teens... hence the writing style
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:55:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22339621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mother_of_Dragons/pseuds/Mother_of_Dragons
Summary: "So, I heard that you've never been kissed"Real smooth.Embarrassed, Matt blushes and practically recoils from your touch, suddenly oh so interested in the unsolved cube again. This time, his movements are slower and not as deft, and his brow furrows in frustration, before he gives up with a huff, still avoiding eye contact."Would you like to try?.. onme, I mean"
Relationships: Matt the Radar Technician/Reader
Comments: 6
Kudos: 43





	Truth or Dare

It's endearing really, the way that he gets flustered over the simplest of interactions with you. So much so that it makes you take pause, aware that this could cross a line, could be more than just harmless fun, could even be (more than a little) _mean_. 

Suddenly struck with a case of cold feet, you decide to turn back, throwing your hands up in defeat to signify that you're at the mercy of Ben and whatever forfeit he sees fit as punishment as you turn, only to be met by the assortment of misfits you call your friends, some still egging you on, others groaning at how easily you'd quit - you take no notice of them, their proclamations just background noise as you lock eyes with Ben, your original challenger. 

He doesn't look surprised that you'd chickened out, only a little disappointed (which is _weird_ , considering the dare) but his expression soon changes when Sloane, maintaining eye contact with you all the while, drapes herself across his shoulder to whisper something in his ear that makes them both laugh. 

You watch them for a moment, fists clenching ~~inexplicably~~ when they lock lips, before you spin on your heel and practically march towards the furthest corner of the basement where - an utterly oblivious - Matt is bobbing his head along to the not-so-ambient Glimmick music pouring out from the speakers & is engrossed in solving a complex looking Rubik's cube, fingers dexterously flicking the puzzle left and right faster than you can register in a way that draws your attention to the prominent veins in his hands, just like Ben's. 

For as long as you’ve known Matt, he’s been obsessed with things like these, whether that be dis(& re)assembling whatever gadgets he can get his hands on, or filling out cryptic crosswords - especially in social situations he feels that he can’t quite get the grip of. You still remember the way his face had lit up last week, spreading from a polite, closed lipped smile to an actual grin, the snaggletooth he hadn’t yet learned to love on full display at the prospect of having a gift all to himself. You hadn’t thought it’d been anything particularly grin worthy, just a jigsaw you’d had made of a picture of both of you as kids - something he could’ve probably finished in his sleep - but you’d felt a wave of accomplishment ripple through you all the same, the quick hug he’d given you in return sufficient enough thanks as he’d launched into an animated conversation about a common interest you both share, way too busy talking to sulk about the joint birthday celebration the other two had scoffed at & eventually blown off completely.

Your resolve lessens steadily the closer that you get. But, before you can flee, he senses you coming and looks up expectantly, pushing his glasses absently up the bridge of his nose and tucking the sliver of tongue which had been resting on his lower lip in concentration back into his mouth. 

"Hey..."

You greet him, somewhat lamely, as you motion for him to budge up, only to immediately sink into the depths of the beanbag chair.

A familiar laugh rings out from across the room and Matt glances their way for a split second before he offers you a hand up, which you take with as much grace as you can muster. 

Thanking him with a nervous smile, you shuffle over until your thighs are touching to keep yourself from falling and wipe your palms on the knees of your jeans when you notice that you're sweating. This close up, you can smell his cologne, the familiar pine scent undercut by something with a touch of spice to it that you can't quite place but nonetheless sets your nerves the tiniest bit more at ease, because it's just Matt - one of your _best_ friends - & the sooner that you get this over with, the sooner you can both forget, or better yet, laugh about it.

"So, I heard that you've never been kissed" 

_Real smooth._

Embarrassed, Matt blushes and practically recoils from your touch, suddenly oh so interested in the unsolved cube again. This time, his movements are slower and not as deft, and his brow furrows in frustration, before he gives up with a huff, still avoiding eye contact. 

"Would you like to try?.. on _me_ , I mean" 

The blush reappears almost immediately, this time spanning what seems to be his whole body, and your conscience resumes its nagging, reminding you (as if you could forget) that this isn't a good idea.

You push the warning aside, enamoured by the thought of being wanted ( _loved_ even) and, boldly, use your index to lift his chin so that your eyes are level, and - with a touch more confidence - ask him again. 

You watch his Adam's apple bob as you await his response, surprised at just how much you're enjoying watching him squirm. You don't have to wait long - after a moment of dumbfounded staring, he nods, slowly at first and then with enthusiasm. Half of you wants to push him further - to get him to _beg_ for it - but the other half of you, the somewhat rational half, dismisses this quickly and obliges him, meeting him halfway. 

Admittedly, keeping in mind that you don't have much experience yourself, his attempt is outright clumsy and more than a touch over excited as he tries - hesitantly, and then all at once - to slip in some tongue, but it's _sweet_ and no less than you were expecting and so you cup his cheek, running your thumb gently across it until he calms down, tasting strawberry jam & a hint butter as you do so. 

It works, after a brief delay, and he slows down enough for you to really enjoy the kiss, conscious that it had spiralled into much more than the peck that you had (literally) bargained for before you pull away, head spinning. 

Glasses ever so slightly askew, he rests his forehead against yours, so that his shaggy, rustic-blonde locs almost tickle, and lets out a "wow" in disbelief that has you genuinely smiling. 

His gaze is still locked on your lips, as if to kiss you again, when a cheer erupts from the other side of the basement, and the bubble between you pops.

You lean back almost immediately, too preoccupied with bashfully wiping your mouth across the back of your hand to catch the jibe that Ben throws Matt's way. 

You can only guess at what he'd said, but Matt's expression afterwards, however, is hard to miss. 

This time, the redness of his face is completely due to embarrassment.

The colour doesn't span his face as fully as it had done before, instead only making itself known in sporadic blotches high across his cheekbones, a stark contrast to his otherwise pale face. 

He turns to you for your input, brows raised in a silent query which you can't quite bring yourself to answer - so you glance away, shoulders slumping in shame. He bristles immediately, taking from that all that he needs to and shooting you a scalding, accusatory look before he's up and away, almost launching you off of the beanbag in the process. 

You think about following him, about explaining that it was just an innocent dare - _was it?_ \- but then promptly reconsider, aware that he probably wants some time alone to be with his thoughts, maybe even wants to leave, and really, could you blame him? 

Instead, you pull together what remains of your somewhat misplaced pride and rejoin your circle of friends, laughing frivolously along with their crude jokes until the focus shifts from you to whoever Ben's next victim is. 

Time passes quickly, and soon you can't bear to feign interest in idle chatter and reckless dares, so you remove yourself from the group when an opportunity presents itself and head upstairs, determined to charge your flagging phone. 

Virtually untouched by your teenage shenanigans, upstairs is much as a you'd left it before your friends had come around, hastily tidied and yet still visibly lived in.

Matt's nowhere to be found, but you're not actively looking for him - instead, you assume that he's probably sequestered himself in some little niche somewhere, as he was fond of doing, and leave it at that, letting your mind wander as you trudge up the stairs, headed for your room. 

However, somewhat predictably, the first thought that pops in your head is of Matt - specifically regarding his freckles.

All the Organa-Solo triplets had them to varying degrees, but Matt's are tightly packed where the others' are sparse, and are seemingly a scattered in clusters across his whole body.

You had called them cute once, years ago, much to Ben and Kylo’s entertainment, who'd added the harmless observation to their arsenal of taunts, thoroughly humiliating him in the process; Kylo's dry, sarcastic drawl as he enunciated 'cute' with audible disgust formidable, even back then. 

The memory itself isn't a surprise, but the shame which accompanies it, washing over you like an ice-cold shower, is.

Of course, you’d felt bad for him at the time, but that had soon been pushed to the back of your mind by Ms. Organa-Solo's call of lunch from inside, and altogether forgotten by the time you’d gotten home, stomach full and all tuckered out. _That's just how the boys were, I hadn't meant anything by it_ , you catch yourself thinking, in awe at how easy it had been for you to assuage your involvement. 

It's this that makes pause when you open your bedroom door, sure that your brain had dreamt up a physical manifestation of your guilt like the daggers before Macbeth - an association that you're quite proud of making, glad that at least some of your studies are sinking in - because there, in your room, on your _bed_ , sits Matt.


End file.
